


The Time Traveller's Wife

by Sunshine170



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:25:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine170/pseuds/Sunshine170
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She loved him, in every time, in every place, she loved him. "But don't you see…." his voice carries pure anguish, breaking now. "The world's dying. There's no happy ending for us." She lays a gentle hand over his cheek, giving him a soft smile, a wordless promise in her eyes. "I'll take what I can get."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time Traveller's Wife

**~ 2011 DC ~**

She loses him in the crowd after the hearing, his long strides and quick feet no match for her as he disappears into the throng of people at the court steps. She calls after him in vain, but he doesn't turn back.

She loses him.

And it would seem Peter Bishop is good at staying lost when he _really_  wants to be.

She finds him three days later, in a lab that's been stripped to bare, next to the only thing that wasn't worth the trouble of dismantling.

Peter, Olivia and a tank.

It ends the way it starts, minus the crazy scientist of course.

"Hy… I've been looking for you."

"Well you obviously found me." He chuckles, head thrown back against the tank.

"You've been drinking." She observes quietly, as she comes to stand next to him, the suit from the hearing, sans tie, stubble scruffier than usual.

"Really now? What gave it away?" He snickers. "The amazing deductive skills of FBI agent Olivia Dunham at work ladies and gentlemen." He waves grandly to the empty space in front of them and gives her a challenging look. Daring her to say something before nodding in resignation.

"It should have been me. It should have been me sitting in prison right now. Not Walter. It should be have been me. I was the one who got into that machine. I was the one who killed…"

"This was not your fault." She tells him firmly, crouching down to meet him at eye level, her hand closing over his. "You didn't start any of this."

"But I did." He looks at her, a haunted look in his eyes. "Don't you see that Olivia. I am a murderer. That's what I am."

"That's not…"

"I think you should leave." He cuts her off. "I'd like to be alone right now."

"Peter please…. Talk to me." She sits in front of him. trying to take his hands in hers but he shirks them away.

"There's nothing to say." He nods curtly.

"Maybe not today."

"Maybe never." He shakes his head.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She looks at him, unable to keep the fear at bay.

He smirks humorlessly then. "I think you already know.

"Humor me." She folds her arms across her chest looking at him with an impassive expression.

He sighs. "Olivia… let's not pretend you don't understand. This…us, what's the point all of this…it's not like we're going to last anyway. We both know I am going to screw up, you're going to be hurt and it's all going to end badly. Might as well cut our losses and move on.

"Really? Is that what you think we should do?"

"No I think we should get married and buy a house and have lots of kids and get a labra doodle." He smirks again, grinning like it was the saddest thing in the world. "Please… Olivia. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

She looks at him keenly for a few long seconds before moving over to sit next to him. "I am certainly not going to make it easy." She says coolly. ""It's not going to work. You won't push me away."

_Not this time. Not ever._

"Olivia…"

"I am not leaving." She says quietly. "I didn't fight for you all those times to simply have you walk away from my life."

"But don't you see…." his voice carries pure anguish, breaking now. "The world's dying. There's no happy ending for us."

She lays a gentle hand over his cheek, giving him a soft smile, a wordless promise in her eyes.

"I'll take what I can get."

He nods, collapsing into her arms.

"Let's go home…" She whispers, holding him close, resting his head against her chest.

"I don't have a home anymore."

"Your home is with me." She tells him.

**~ 2015~ Boston**

It's a far less from ideal day to be out here on the pier. Windy, overcast, everything is positively grey.

Not to mention the vicious nip in the air.

All his years of growing up in Massachusetts and he's yet to grow fond of the New England chill, or even develop an indifference to it.

Around him are the few people who have braved the elements to be outdoors today, often directing a curious look towards him, wondering surely what kind of an awful father he is to drag his young child out in this biting cold.

Not that she seems to mind it so much, having an unusual affinity for this weather, unlike her parents. Seated next to him, bundled up in her favorite jacket, she seems far from bothered that they've been sitting on the bench for over half an hour without any apparent purpose.

She's not a quiet child by any means, but she has a knack for appreciating silence when the occasion demands it, and Peter suspects much like her mother, his daughter simply knew when those occasions popped up.

In retrospect, this has been one of his stupider ideas, to come out here to talk to her about Walter's disappearance, when it could have been done all the same at home, preferably with some hot cocoa to soften the blow.

Not to mention the presence of her mother, which would make everything infinitely better.

Olivia always knew the right things to say, the words that would help her feel better. But he'd been adamant about doing this on his own.

Etta should hear this from him, he'd thought, something he's not so convinced about right now.

Especially considering the most talking he's done so has been to ask her which flavor of popcorn she wanted at the concessions stand.

He pulls the hoodie over Etta's head gently to stop the blonde hair from flying wildly around in the wind.

"Sorry about the carousel kiddo. It's too cold to ride. I don't wanna get you sick." He says, nudging her nose, which has turned red and icy to touch. .

He _really_  should get her indoors and warm. Warm would be good and soon… he thinks feeling the mild numbness in his toes.

"That's okay." She says somewhat distractedly, her attention on the toy in her hand. "Grandpa will take me when he comes back."

She looks at him curiously then, as of something occurred to her just then. "When is he coming back daddy? He's going to miss Christmas if he's not back soon."

He sighs glumly.

_Moment of truth…._

"Come here baby." He lifts her up to settle her on his lap, moving to take her gloved hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Grandpa's not coming back for Christmas, Etta."

"He's not?" Her blue eyes are troubled at the suggestion.

"No sweetheart." He shakes his head, cringing at the way her face falls at this. "Etta… grandpa… the thing is…he's.. "

This is hard, he realizes. Telling her makes it real, makes it final.

Walter's gone. His father was gone, to somewhere, someplace he had no way of coming back from.

"Etta…." He swallows hard, giving her a much too fake smile.

"Etta…" He tries again, his ability to form words other than her name failing him.

"He's not coming back is he daddy?" She looks at him then, an inexplicable expression on her face. Like somehow, she simply  _knew._

He makes to protest, to mumble the half-hearted words of reassurance that he'd prepared in his head for days for this very moment. The cycle of life, the inevitability of loss… all the things he'd wanted to explain to her like a good parent should to a young child, rendered irrelevant when he sees that calm acceptance in her eyes.

And he realizes he doesn't need to tell her anything at all.

"He's not coming back." He repeats, feeling a dull numbness set into his heart.

She nods slowly, bravely trying to hold in her tears, before reaching her hand towards his cheek. She pats it softly, giving him the smallest smile, before flinging her arms around his neck, tight.

"It's okay daddy." She whispers, patting his back awkwardly, as she holds on. "Please don't be sad."

He hugs her back, letting her warmth mesh with his, unable to speak anymore.

"Let's go home okay." He tells her.

"It went okay?" Olivia hands him a cup of tea, giving his still chilly hand a squeeze as she sits next to him. at the kitchen counter.

"Yeah…" He smiles at her reassuringly; amused at the way she was trying to hide the worry in her eyes.

"She seems to have taken it well." She throws a quick look in Etta's direction who was in the living room, playing with her toy bunny, a little more subdued than usual, but not looking overly distraught.

"She was really brave." He nods. "Takes after her mother."

"And you're okay?" She cups his face gently, giving him a questioning look.

He shakes his head and then looks in Etta's direction, who sensing his eyes on him, looks up from her toys to give him a smile.

"I will be." He tells her.

**~ 2018, Boston ~**

"Agent Bishop." The lady nods at him. "I think Agent Dunham is in the…"

"I know where to find her. Thanks." He nods with a smile, walking briskly down the corridor; he turns to his right and enters the children wing.

He sees a small group of kids playing on the floor, a carton of new toys and playthings that he remembers shopping for the other day with Olivia.

"Peter…" A little girl comes running towards him, crashing into his legs. "Look what Olivia got me." She gives him smile, showing off proudly her new pack of crayons.

"I know." He kneels down to meet her at eyelevel. "She made me drive to three stores to find you the ones you wanted. Do you like them?" He asks her, nudging her nose playfully.

"I love them." She says earnestly, throwing her arms around him tightly. "These are just like the ones mommy got me last Christmas."

"I am glad sweetheart." He hugs her back, feeling his chest tighten with an inexplicable feeling. "Is Olivia with Paige?"

"Uhuha." She nods, pointing to the door.

He ruffles her hair and walks away.

The children have paid the highest price in this whole business.

Orphans of a war that's been long over, the externalities of which they're still dealing with. Every Fringe event has only lead to more of them. They keep the children in a care facility directly run by Fringe Division; there is at least one in every major city now.

A, sizeable number of them they're able to return to surviving family, most of them end up in foster care, the luckier ones make it to the adoption lists.

Olivia loves them, every one of them. The kids have become a fixture of their lives, visiting them, bringing toys and gifts, she puts her heart and soul into trying to keep them happy and comfortable, and making every effort possible in reuniting them with their families.

He makes his way into the nursery, where the infants and smaller children were kept and sure enough, she's there. Her back is turned to him, he can make out the soft sounds of cooing coming from her, and he can watch her hand moving animatedly over something, he can't see yet.

"I knew you'd be in here." He says softly, and she turns to him with a radiant smile.

"I just came to check on her." She shrugs, bouncing the baby she holds in her arms, the bewitching little creature that has been the cause of Olivia's happiness off late. The scarcely two-week old infant they had found amongst the wreckage of an apartment complex, blown up using an anti-matter bomb, screaming bloody murder as she lay in an utterly destroyed nursery, the corpses of her parents on the floor.

She had miraculously survived the blast that had left no survivors, with nothing more than a cut on her left ear.

"How is she?" He smiles taking a seat next to her on the camp cot, his hand coming to run over the downy head with the wisps of dark, glossy hair, eliciting a toothless grin from the baby, who then suddenly shy, buries her face into Olivia's shirt, lifting her chubby arm in cover for good measure.

"Doing beautifully." She chuckles, kissing her crown gently. "The nurse told me she's perfectly healthy. Her ear has completely healed and there'll be no hearing problems in the future." Her fingers, ghost over the fading cut on the cartilage, a micro-frown on her face.

"That's good." He nods, running a finger through a chubby cheek, as the dark brown eyes stare at him with caution. Paige is yet to take to him the way she does to Olivia.

"Have they been able to trace any living relatives?" He asks.

The information they were able to pull through the records and the evidence in the apartment had given them her name from her slightly sooty fleece blanket and not much else to go on. All they know was that she was born to a Korean American couple, both of them dead, their bodies found at the scene of the blast. They've been trying to locate any other family she may have had for months now and have had little luck.

She is a gorgeous, the child … lustrous black hair and the most beguiling brown eyes, a shade of pure espresso and lively to boot. It's hard not to fall in love with her. But Olivia is more than infatuated. Over the five months, she's been visiting Paige almost every other day, checking on her healing, pouring every available resource into tracking down any relatives or family who'd be able to take custody.

He's never seen her so enamored by a child before, or so invested.

"No." She shakes her head, clutching Paige closer. "They still can't find anybody. I think it's about time we accept there isn't anyone coming for her." She gives him a heartbroken look, her hand clasping the tiny fingers that play with her blond hair.

"They're going to officially put her on the adoption list from next week." She sighs. "Peggy says they should be able to find her a good home. She's beautiful and healthy and so perfect…. It shouldn't be hard..."

"I think I might know a good home she'll be very happy in." He says, squeezing her hand, knowing he's treading very dangerous territory right then. It's an instinctual response, when he knows better than to make the suggestion.

"Yeah?" She looks at him with a curious expression. "Whose?"

"Ours." He shrugs, giving her a warm smile. " _We_ could take her home you know."

"Peter…"

"You know we could." He cuts her off, seeing the openly conflicting emotions of longing and resolve in her eyes.

He's tired of seeing her deny herself the happiness which she wants, the happiness they both want.

"It's not that simple." She shakes her head.

"It's really that simple Olivia. She needs a home and we have one." He smiles. "I know how much you care about her. I know how much you love her already. And she clearly adores you. Me she doesn't care for so much." He grins, poking a finger softly at her tummy, making the baby giggle. "But I think we can work on that. Don't you?"

She laughs with the child, a careful look setting in her face, as she undoubtedly absorbs the things he's telling her, considering the more than valid argument he had just made.

"We made a decision." She nods her voice wavering now, as if she's trying to convince herself. "And we should stick to it."

"Says who?" He coaxes, his hand joining hers as they caress the head nestled against her chest. "You're amazing with her and I haven't seen you this happy in a long time Liv. If anybody gets to change their mind. It's you."

She smiles at him, and then at the child, who's still pulling at her hair, completely unaware of the fact that the direction of her fate was being deliberated upon right then.

"We could keep take her home, couldn't we? She'd be ours?" She asks him, a wistful smile on her face.

"She'd be ours." He nods. "Say yes honey. I know you want to. You were born to be a mother Olivia. I know it."

She's still looking at Paige, an unreadable expression on her face, she then places a loving kiss on her forehead, her lips lingering for a couple of seconds, before she shakes her head, closing her eyes.

"She's already lost her parents once Peter." She says firmly, standing up as she places the baby back in the bassinet gently. "She shouldn't have to go through that again."

"Olivia..."

"I won't do that to her." She says, looking at him, before walking away. "It's not fair."

_Life's not fair._ Peter thinks glumly, his eyes drifting towards to the child and then to Olivia's retreating form.

_Life's fucking not fair._

**~ Boston 2013~**

"I take it she's crashing our bed tonight… again." Peter says with a patient smile, as he emerges from the bathroom to find Olivia covering their daughter with a cream and blue blanket, her lips turned into that soft smile that seems to have become a permanent fixture in the past few days.

"She fell asleep while I was feeding her." She shrugs, tucking in the corners under her tiny feet, not looking apologetic in the slightest. "And she looks so comfortable. I don't feel like moving her."

As if in agreement, Etta murmurs in her sleep softly, a sigh of contentment escaping her pouty lips, her little head and hands barely peeping out of the blanket Olivia had swaddled her in.

His hands reach out to caress the soft hair on her head off their own accord.

"Liv…" He climbs into bed on the other side. "It's been a week since we brought her home and she has yet to spend a night in her crib. What's the point of us slaving over the nursery for weeks, trying to get everything done in time, if you're never going to put her there?"

"I want to keep her close…. Just for tonight. We'll put her in her crib from next week… I promise." She gives him a beseeching look.

Peter simply smiles, his hand drifting to Etta's smooth cheek. Truth be told, he far from minds having to share his sleeping quarters with their daughter. But its Olivia's lack of sleep that has him concerned. He's never seen her look so exhausted.

Or so unwaveringly happy... it literally radiates off of her, even in frayed tank and sweats, hair in disarray, looking every bit of the tired new mother she is, she glows with a joy he has never seen in her before.

"What?" Her gaze narrows as she senses his scrutiny, she looks at him with a questioning look.

"You're amazing at this you know that." He tells her.

She rolls her eyes, giving him an amused grin, her gaze shifting towards Etta. She reaches out to clasp the tiny hand in her own. "Don't you think it's a little premature to make that conclusion? I've only done this for five days."

He shakes his head.

"You were born to be a mother."

**~ Boston 2036~**

There is something about this lab that made a person want to hope…. Olivia had realized that years ago, which is why she turns there every time she needed answers.

It's where she goes after she leaves Peter in Etta's apartment.

It looked like a mad house, and it was…. she'd be a fool to disagree. But it's also a place of hope, a place where the impossible could happen.

Where anything could happen… if you could just imagine it.

Right now, she can't imagine anything more than the pain of her dead child. The last moments of her life… spent in agony as blood poured from her chest, taking her essence with it. The explosion, fragmenting her still warm flesh and blood, sending it flying into a million pieces before sucking it inwards into vortex, disappearing forever into nothingness.

She doesn't even realize when Astrid joins her in the back office. Doesn't notice anything till she hears her clear her throat.

"I found this, while I was cleaning out the supply closet." She gives her a small smile, putting down something on the desk, almost like she's afraid of seeming too cheerful in front of her. "Thought you might like to have it."

Olivia nods absently, her eyes drifting halfheartedly towards the card, she has placed on the desk, her expression changing sharply as she realizes exactly what Astrid had found. She grabs it into her hands immediately, blowing over the dust, cleaning the grime over the fuzzy black and white image that carried her initials on top, next to a time stamp.

Her baby…at six months, with little feet and hands that one could make out clearly. A girl, her doctor had told her needlessly, something she already knew since the day she'd known about her child.

She traces the image gently with her fingers, remembering the day she had given this to Walter to keep… how he'd hugged her so tight and then cried when she told him he was going to have a granddaughter. The way Peter had grinned like a mad man for days….

A copy of this, she'd pasted in the baby book she'd started for Etta…the last entry had been for her third birthday.

Etta. Dead. Gone.

And Peter… Peter whom she loved, loved more than should be humanly possible for anyone, turned mad by grief and into a monster by vengeance, into the very monster that had killed her child.

Her family, the only thing she'd ever wanted for herself…more than anything else in the world, now gone, taken from her.

And there's no fix for it…this time. All the impossible feats she had achieved or helped achieve in this very lab and, here she is now, defeated by a gun and a bullet.

The lab is simply cobwebs and obsolete machines. There's no magic left.

She stares at the sonogram in her hand.

There's nothing left at all.


End file.
